I Am Behind You by John Ajvide Lindqvist, Marlaine Delargy Page B

Sooner or later. End up with no dinner. That kind of thing.
    *
    Majvor has been married to Donald for forty-six years. He proposed on his twenty-fifth birthday, and she said yes straight away. She saw no reason to give him a different answer. In those days Donald was just an ordinary employee at the sawmill, but Majvor knew that he would soon make progress. She was right.
    She has given him four sons, and they are all decent men. She has run a large household, cooked, cleaned, shopped, done the laundry. She has had her hands full for almost thirty years, and has never felt the need to complain.
    He has never hit her, and is not a big drinker. She is pretty sure he has been unfaithful, but this hasn’t particularly bothered her. Men are men, and although she might have shed a few tears over a shirt carrying the scent of an unfamiliar perfume, she has quickly put the matter behind her and has never plagued him with questions.
    He has accompanied her to church on high days and holidays even though he does not share her faith, which is kind of him. In return she has never tried to convert him or force him into a piety that is not in his nature.
    They have been lucky, all in all. She’d grown up poor, with no special talents, and so had Donald, but together they have raised four fine sons, and can rest on their laurels in a large house by the sea, with two cars and a boat. The Lord has indeed smiled down upon them. To think anything else would be the height of arrogance.
    Majvor doesn’t know what to make of the situation in which they now find themselves. The Lord may or may not be involved, as is so often the case. When she has a moment to herself, she will ask Him for advice. He probably won’t answer, and as usual she will be left to her own devices. That’s how it should be.
    But it looks as if it will be a while before that moment comes. The people from the other caravans are arriving, one by one or two by two, at Donald’s invitation. Majvor gets up to welcome them. She is a good hostess, as she has been told so many times.
    She intends to carry on being herself, a person who is basically kind. Whatever happens.
    *
    ‘Why are we doing this?’
    ‘Because it’s fun, of course.’
    ‘How is it fun?’
    ‘You’ll see, you stupid dog.’
    ‘I don’t want to be a dog any more. Tell me.’
    ‘Tell you what?’
    ‘About the monster and so on.’
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘But you promised! You said that if I—’
    ‘First of all I have to be sure you won’t say anything.’
    ‘I won’t.’
    ‘You swear?’
    ‘I swear!’
    ‘Do you swear on your mummy’s life? If you say anything, she’ll die?’
    ‘…’
    ‘There you go. You will say something.’
    ‘I won’t! I swear!’
    ‘On your mummy’s life?’
    ‘…’
    ‘On your mummy’s life?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Repeat after me: If I say anything, my mummy will die .’
    ‘If I say anything, my…I don’t want to.’
    ‘In that case the monster can have you.’
    *
    Seven people are gathered around the teak table in Donald and Majvor’s awning, three along each side, Donald at the head. Only Stefan and Donald have a can of beer in front of them; the others have soft drinks, or nothing. After all, it’s only morning. Presumably.
    Donald has told them that the radio is working, and together they have listened to Mona Wessman singing about the hambo, but there is no presenter.
    If this was a meeting, it would have been abandoned by now. The atmosphere is oppressive, and no one is saying anything. From time to time someone turns to the opening in the canvas awning, looking for those who are not here. Everyone must be present. Perhaps that is why nothing is happening, nothing is being said.
    Donald takes a swig of his beer and leans back, placing his hands on his belly. ‘So…’ One or two people nod as if to confirm he is correct. Stefan even goes so far as to say ‘Right’, mainly to thank Donald for the beer.
    Majvor notices that Isabelle’s hands are